


long way home

by lesbianenderman (eghed)



Category: Dimension 20, Fantasy High
Genre: Character Study, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2020-07-22
Packaged: 2021-03-04 17:42:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25170328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eghed/pseuds/lesbianenderman
Summary: We all hang on differently.
Relationships: Fabian Aramais Seacaster & Everyone
Comments: 19
Kudos: 69





	1. figueroth faeth

**Author's Note:**

> i am a desperate and miserable writer clutching my quill and smearing ink across my forearms. that is to say i am forced to write this in my notes app. please please please let me know if there are any typos or gramatical errors. 
> 
> the title is from “let’s get lost” by carly rae jepsen!

Fig has never been the champion of scheduling. She misses appointments so frequently, one could make the case that she does it on purpose. When she nudges Fabian’s arm across a bed full of snoozing teenagers in the wee hours of the morning with huge bleary eyes, he isn’t surprised when she asks for a ride home.

“Sandralynn’s gonna be fuckin’ pissed if I’m not home tomorrow,” she mumbles as the two of them pull on shoes and coats over their peejays. “She gets breakfast with her old adventuring party once every few years if she’s lucky, and she really wants me to meet them.” 

Fabian grew up surrounded by everyone his father had ever known. He nods at her, but it’s hard for him to process having to learn about your parents through conversation, rather than wild and boastful tales told around a huge table overflowing with citrus and dried meat. 

“Are you sure you’re fine letting me ride the Hangman? I know you can get a little possessive sometimes.” She gives him a sheepish grin. He shrugs.

“Of course. I like an early start on the day anyway. This just gives me an excuse to get out.” He steps through a polished wooden door into the manor’s garage, patting the Hangman on the handlebars. He purrs to life under his touch.

_Sire_ , Fabian hears the infernal voice in his head, _where are we off to at this dawn hour? Have you another dragon to slay? A maiden to kiss upon?_

Fabian shakes his head. “In time, Hangman, but for now Fig just needs a ride home.” 

_As you wish, sire._

The Hangman reverses and turns himself around, facing the open garage door. The world outside is chilly, but not unpleasantly so. The beginnings of a sunrise are starting to paint the sky a delicate lavender. The town is holding its breath. Fabian slings a leg onto the custom leather seat and scoots forward, giving Fig ample room to plop behind him.

Her hands are rough and hot where they dig into his upper arms. He can feel the deep valleys on her left fingertips from hours of soundtracking their mischief on her bass.

“It’s usually safer and more comfortable if you put your arms around my waist,” he says as they chug down the driveway. Fig knocks her chin between his shoulder blades. 

“I live to be in danger,” she says. He smiles and shifts his shoulder back to bump her cheek. 

“Careful with those claws, then,” he says, and the Hangman leaves the manor in a cloud of dust. 

It’s hardly the first time Fig’s been on the Hangman. Everyone’s been on it a time or two. The streets of Elmville are empty at this hour, though, and the distant fingers of sunrise claw at the gravel. All things considered, this whole atmosphere is incredibly Fig. Without looking, Fabian knows she’s leaning her head back and opening her mouth into the lashes of wind. 

Her nails aren’t long, can’t be if she wants to have a successful time plucking at her bass, but the way she picks at them makes them jagged and thistle-sharp. She’s really digging in, too, and if she weren’t herself he might wonder if she was trying to hurt him. He clenches his teeth around his tongue instead of saying anything. If Fig wanted to talk, she’d talk. 

As they make their way through town back to Mordred Manor, the two of them watch as business fronts begin to light up yellow and orange. A halfling in a long coat waves at them from where she’s sweeping red leaves off a sidewalk. Fig releases his left bicep in order to wave back, and as the wind slices through the tender notches she’s made he feels the lack of firm weight on that side tip the Hangman a bit.

“Whoa, hold on!” He shifts his weight to the right as she squeaks and latches back on. Her forehead presses into the back of his neck. He pulls up to the curb to recuperate for a moment. He punches out a laugh as the Hangman filters apologies at him.

“You’d think I’d have more control, with how many battles I’ve ridden this fella in.” He runs his thumb over the center of the handlebars. Fig doesn’t respond. She’s shaking a little bit. He cranes his neck to look at her where she’s still clutching him. “Hey, are you alright?” 

He feels a shaky breath hit his shoulders. “Yeah, uh, yeah. Sorry about that, Jesus. I shoulda just held on like you told me to.” 

Fabian frowns and rolls perception. Fig’s deception is bananas, but she must roll low this time, because he can tell she’s upset. He swings a leg around the Hangman and lets her press her face into his arm. Her fingernails are scrabbling less so than digging, straining against her shaking hands.

“Fig, it’s okay. We wouldn’t have fallen either way! The Hangman will always catch us.” He shifts his arm so he can scratch at the back of her head. Her hair is tied up in a ratty ponytail. He realizes he’s never touched it before. It’s a little crunchy, like it’s been heat-damaged. He chooses not to think about whether that’s due to a straighter or her Phoenix girlfriend. 

“I know, god. God, sorry! I don’t know why I freaked out about it. You can keep driving.”

Fabian’s not the wisest, but he’s not buying that for a second. He places his hands at her cheeks and angles his torso so he can look at her properly. Her eyes are overcast. 

“You know you can talk to me, right? You don’t have to be tough all the time. We can take turns.” 

Fig heaves a bit of air and swipes at her undereyes. “Yeah, yeah. I’m just worn out.” She pauses, and meets his eyes with a wobbly smile. “Thanks, man.” 

He nods at her. He thinks about prying, for a moment, but he knows that neither up them are up for it right now. Maybe he’ll send an edible arrangement to her house later or something. For now, he settles back across his bike and sits up straight so Fig can curl her nails back into his arms. 

She doesn’t, though. She nudges her little fists through where his arms are stiff on his torso, and she wraps them around to his tummy. She grabs hold of his silk pajama shirt and he briefly winces at the thought of wrinkles, but he’s disarmed by how her breathing slows as she folds the fabric between her fingers. 

“Hangman, let’s ride,” he says. The sun is almost up now, anyway; Sandralynn waits for no one.


	2. adaine abernant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings for this chapter: discussion of panic attacks, discussion of depression

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> once again, please let me know if there are any spelling or grammatical errors! i am strong. i can take the blow to my pride. 
> 
> sometimes, all it takes to like a character you were on the fence about is writing a little study about her. who woulda thought.

Adaine looks a lot like her sister. Big slender hands, big shining eyes, big blown-out hair. The Abernant girls are beautiful in a way that cuts. The twin tilts of their brows can flay you with the least of efforts. It’s an ethereal Elven quality that many people are intimidated by. 

Basically, Adaine didn’t really have friends before the Bad Kids. Nobody wanted to talk to the weird hot girl with the backpack slumping off her shoulders from the weight of her books.

Fabian, of course, is immune to fear. 

Adaine is very, very afraid. 

It’s the finale of another Bloodrush game. It was scarily close in the end, but Gorgug had managed the finishing toss and secured them their spot on the bracket. Kristen, Fig, and Riz were hollering at their team from the bleachers as they bumped chests and hoisted each other onto their shoulders. 

It doesn’t take a high perception check to see the lack of a wheat-blonde head among the stands.

“I’m going to hit the showers. I feel fucking gross. Tell Gorthalax?” He says, breathless, to Ragh. He gets a nod and a shaka. The Bloodrush boys don’t really question each other. It’s an important piece of their bond.

Fabian slinks away from the crowds, sliding through frantic bodies with a rhythmic ease. He peeks underneath the silver bleachers, but of course that’s too easy. He heads for the parking lot.

She’s sitting on the pavement next to a fern that needs to be weeded. She’s twirling a strand of hair around her finger and chewing on it absentmindedly. Boggy is curled up under her other arm, croaking musically to her. Fabian jogs over and crouches in front of her. She looks up at him sharply.

“Fabian, hey. I was just, um...” She flounders a bit. The clump of hair that had been in her mouth is shining and sticking to the lens of her glasses. 

“You’re fine,” he says. Boggy wiggles out from under Adaine’s arm and leaps onto Fabian’s bent knee. He pats him on his freckled head. “What happened?” 

She shrugs. She shrugs again. She shrugs one more time before Fabian realizes she’s trying very, very hard not to cry. He takes her hands in his. 

“You don’t have to tell me. Do you need a ride home?” Adaine lets out a tear-sliced breath and squints. 

“God. That would probably be best, yeah.” 

He helps her up and helps her get Boggy secured in her bag. He shoots a quick Crystal message to Riz before approaching the Hangman where he’s illegally parked in the teacher’s lot. 

_Sire, are we off to Mordred Manor? I never mean to invade your privacy, but I heard your conversation with Miss Abernant._

“Yes, Hangman, thank you.” He straddles the seat and pats the back of it for his friend to get on. Her legs wobble as she pulls herself on board, but she plants her feet firmly on the tar and exhales heavily.

“Can I have a minute?” She manages. Her hands are pressing into the leather behind where Fabian is sitting. He nods, and, silently, places an upturned palm behind him. He feels her squeeze onto it immediately. With the contact, he can feel the way her muscles are vibrating. 

“You don’t have to talk,” he says, slow and out of practice, “But were you having a, a panic attack?” 

She laughs at that. He swivels his head as far as it’ll go to hit her with a frown. “It was a genuine question!” 

Adaine shakes her head and widens her eyes incredulously towards the ground. “No, no, sorry, I wasn’t laughing at you. Myself, I guess. More than anything.” 

Fabian waits. 

“Like, I know— _I know,_ God—that it doesn’t work like this, but some part of me was so convinced that my meds would keep this from happening again. I hate how helpless I feel when it happens to me. I hate how people look at me. It sucks.” 

Fabian hasn’t been there. Fabian is immune to fear. Fabian is reckless and never thinks what anyone else might see when they watch him, besides his natural beauty. He doesn’t know what it’s like to have a brain that makes you second-guess everything you do. 

Sometimes, in low moments, he thinks that maybe it’d be nice. He lays in his too-big bed and stares blearily at his ceiling and thinks about Alistair Ash’s face before he fell, and Kristen, dead for the millionth time too far away from him on the battlefield. Having a brain with a bit of fear sounds good to him. Maybe—and he hates himself when he thinks this—but maybe, he’d hate himself for an easier reason if he was a bit more paranoid. 

“I’m sorry,” he says. There’s no reason to say more. Last year, he might’ve. He likes when people know what’s on his mind, likes knowing he’s known.

Right now, he doesn’t need to be. Right now, he needs to be there for his friend, who he knows. Who knows him. She squeezes his hand again and then lets go.

“Not like it’s your fault, man. Or, well, maybe it is. If you and the boys weren’t so good at Bloodrush, maybe the crowd wouldn’t have been so bad.” She elbows him in the side and he laughs, big and open and stained with guilt.

“I’d say I’ll try and do worse next time, but I don’t think I’m capable.” 

“I could never ask for that, Fabian!”

He nudges the Hangman with his foot. 

_Ready to go, sire?_

“As always, Hangman. Adaine, hold on.” 

Adaine puts both hands atop his shoulders and next to his neck. She squeezes a little, like she’s going to give him a massage. Like he’s the one who needs it. 

The Hangman rolls out of the parking lot and the sound of the field gives way to gravel and crickets and the friendly night breeze. Adaine breathes in the city-soaked air, and Fabian can feel her hands relax where they sit on him.

Adaine is not, in the end, very much like her sister at all. They are both stunning and sharp-tongued and packed full of arcane knowledge, but Adaine has a care for others that Fabian never receives when he’s with Aelwyn. Adaine’s hands are strong, restless from the magic that lies within them, and gentle on the skin of his collarbones. Aelwyn is all grabbing and pushing and pulling.

Adaine and Aelwyn are hardly comparable. They’re spoons and knives. 

Adaine pinches his neck when he misses a turn. They laugh together, but there’s no push within her. They’re friends. There doesn’t need to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> after two days, im STILL on twitter! come chat @/touchtonereggie (:


	3. kristen applebees

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *sees a canon lesbian* hmmmmm don’t mind if i do *projects all my issues with physicality and communication onto them* 
> 
> if the spirit moves you, comments make me happier than anything in the world! feel free to write me a little note!

Mordred Manor’s lawn is large and overgrown with native biodiversity, due mostly to Tracker’s insistence and nurturing. It’s beautiful to look at and the birds and butterflies love it, but it does mean that everybody has to wear thick mud boots when they wanna have a bonfire night. Fabian never remembers. The olive green always clashes with the rest of his outfit, no matter what else he’s wearing.

The fire pit is a makeshift circle of rocks a little ways off of the cemetery. They all bring lawn chairs and blankets from home and lay them on the ground so the wet grass doesn’t soak through their pants.

Pretty much everybody made it tonight, which is novel. Fabian hadn’t remembered. He’s sharing the blanket that Kristen and Tracker brought with Riz in tow because everyone refused to let him sit in the metal folding chair he carried from his office. 

Fabian is reticent, at first, to sit next to his cleric friends. It’s not that he doesn’t enjoy their company. They’re both funny, and Tracker is super insightful, and Kristen was technically his first kiss which bonds them for life, he assumes. They’re just kind of all over each other.

Tracker’s head is in Kristen’s lap and her hair is in Kristen’s short fingers. She grumbles, low in her throat, the satisfied noises that suggest a tail thumping on the floor. Kristen looks a little absent.

“Did we bring those little color things?” Ragh asks. He’s sitting in a lawn chair next to Gorgug, who’s sitting on the ground with Zelda in his lap. 

“The what?” Fig says. She’s standing such a small distance from the flames that it would be worrying if she weren’t Hellish royalty. She’s trying to blow the smoke in a way that makes it look like she’s vaping. Zayn thinks it’s funny, where he’s hovering next to Adaine and Ayda, but the two wizards are locked in a deep analysis of the past residents of Mordred Manor and why they would’ve needed the amount of passages that it now holds. 

“The fire stuff. You know, the little packets that make it change color? We had them last time.” Ragh explains. Gorgug hums affirmatively from the ground. Kristen groans, suddenly, from next to Fabian. 

“Ugh. Sorry, I just realized I left them on the kitchen counter.” Tracker pats her wrist.

“Oh, I can go dimension door to them,” Fig says. She wiggles her fingers in preparation, but Kristen makes a series of aborted noises from the roof of her mouth. 

“No, you need your spell slots for Capture the Flag later. I can just go grab ‘em.” Fig tilts her head.

“It’s kind of a hike, are you sure? Plus, I’m not even on your team tonight. Remember? We switched.” 

“Let’s take the Hangman,” Fabian interjects. Both girls turn their heads to look at him and smile. 

“Oh, how noble, Master Fabian,” Fig croons. She waves a hand through the fire and twirls. 

“Whatever.” He stands up, pulling Kristen with him. He ruffles Riz’s hair. “You’re in charge, The Ball.” 

“You weren’t in charge to begin with!” Tracker whines, but Fabian’s already jogging to the tree he parked under. Kristen follows at an unhurried pace. 

“Hey, Hangman,” Fabian says. He kneels in front of his steed and puts a big hand on the front wheel. 

_Master,_ the Hangman says, _Are the festivities over? I had assumed we would be spending the night here. I am happy to carry you home regardless._

“No, the slumber party’s still on. We’ve just got to head back to the manor for a moment.” 

“Are you two kissing?”

Fabian whips his head around and rises from his squat. “Kristen,” he says. His tone is loaded. She laughs at him. 

“Relax, bud. I’m not gonna out you.”

“For the last time, I do not kiss the Hangman!” 

“Yeah, okay, and I don’t sneak into Tracker’s room every other night for varied sexual and non-sexual reasons.” 

“Ew.”

“Don’t be a bigot.” She hops past him and wriggles onto the Hangman’s seat. “Can I drive?” 

“Um,” Fabian says, just as the Hangman revvs his engine in alarm and says, _Master, Madame Applebees is on me and you are not. Should I eject her?_

“Hangman, no.” Fabian sighs. “It’s, like, eleven. You aren’t going to be able to see well enough to steer.” 

“And you are?” She offers. She flexes her hands on the grips. The Hangman seems to whimper. 

“I mean—“ he says, but she’s hunching down over the handlebars and planting her shoes on the footpegs. He groans. “Oh my god, fine. Hangman, it’s alright. I’ll let you do the work for this one, though.” 

_If that is what you wish, sire._

Fabian doesn’t think he’s ever been on the back of the Hangman before. It’s weird, not having his hands on the throttle and the windscreen bumping his chest. He takes a moment to find where his feet can fit (which isn’t difficult. Having incredibly small feet has its uses) and then hesitates.

“How am I supposed to, uh, grab on?”

Fabian knows that Kristen is a little weird about people touching her. She’s perfectly fine to sling an arm around you, place herself in your lap, give you a delirious peck on the mouth, but she jumps when you brush your arm against hers. Usually, it’s not an issue; he keeps a respectful distance until she breaks it. He’s not the most physical guy, anyway, not that you’d know it from the kids he hangs out with. 

Now, though, he can feel her tense up where his knees tap against her legs. Her mouth is in it’s usual unconscious smile, but her eyes are a little wild. 

“Uh, don’t people usually just grab your waist?” 

“Yeah, they grab _my_ waist. You aren’t me.” 

Her mouth twists to one side. “I’m sorry, I should just ride in back, I’m making this super weird—“

“If that’s what you want,” he says, “but I... I mean, it’s not every day someone has the guts to take my bike out from under me. You might as well ride the high, right?” 

He doesn’t know how to tell her that he knows she’s been under a lot of pressure lately and misses hearing her laugh, so he doesn’t. 

She exhales minutely. “Yeah, uh, okay. Can you, like, hold onto my elbows? Like, the elbow pits.” 

Fabian gives her a look.

“Y’know, the part on the other side of your elbow?” She holds her arm face up to demonstrate, indicating the soft divot where the arm bends. Her arms are hairy and generously freckled, just like the rest of her. 

“I understood that. I just can’t believe you called it an ‘elbow pit’.” 

_Is Madame Applebees comfortable? We should leave swiftly, so as not to miss out on a baller party._

Fabian cracks his neck and (slowly, delicately, remaining in her line of sight) wraps his fingers around the curve of her arms. She’s strong, he notices; not chiseled, but tough. He feels weirdly proud of her. 

She’s tense for only a moment, but then: “Okie-dokey, Hangman, let’s boogie.” 

They shoot up the foliage-ridden hill at a pace Fabian knows the Hangman is only using to show off. Kristen loosens up almost immediately, bumping the top of her head against Fabian’s chin. The Hangman does a little donut, low to the ground, and she shrieks. They pop a completely unnecessary wheelie on the porch, and the engine sizzles down. She laughs like the air is being squeezed from her lungs. 

Fabian realizes his kind of clinging. Not having the steady grips to hold on to really does change the vibe of the ride. He’s curled around Kristen’s back and his legs are trembling. He unravels himself like an old man (pointedly not thinking of Gilear) and leans on the shingles next to the door to steady himself. A hunk of wood clunks to the ground under his weight.

Kristen pops off the bike, and her smile is back. Fabian can’t help but return it. He really did miss seeing it. 

“Your bike kinda fucking rules, dude,” she says. “I might rob you.” 

Fabian honestly has no idea if she means that or not. He knocks shoulders with her, and she doesn’t flinch. Before he steps through the doorframe, a thought occurs to him. 

“Why do we need the packets if half our party knows prestidigitation?” 

Kristen shrugs. She holds the door for him as he walks in. She closes it so it hits him on the ass. 

He really does love his friends. Someday soon he’ll be able to tell them.


	4. gorgug thistlespring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings for this chapter: descriptions of sensory overload

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it’s my fic i get to make everybody neurodivergent if i want to 😋

“What the hell do you mean, we’ve got a flat tire?” 

“I mean, we’ve got a flat tire. The tire’s flat,” Gorgug explains. Fabian puts his head in his hands. 

“Not even twenty minutes into this road trip and things are already going wrong. Perfect, awesome. Super cool.” 

Gorgug frowns. “Sorry, dude. I guess I should’ve seen somebody leaving a sword in the middle of the highway. We’re in Elmville, after all.” He reaches to pat Fabian on the shoulder. He tenses up, but lets it happen. Zaphriel’s sapphire glows ice blue, cool as a cucumber. 

_Hey, gang, so sorry about the tire situation! Totally should’ve reminded my main man Gorgug to snag a spare. My bad._

Kristen leans across the center console, elbowing Riz in the face from where he’s holding a map in the middle seat. “Can you use your chill angel powers to fix it?” 

Zaphriel makes a clicking sound. _Sorry, man, I’m all AC and jams up here. Here, on the house. Or the van. Haha._ He puts on some Indigo Girls. Kristen settles back into her seat. 

“We appreciate the folk, Hangvan, but we really should figure this out. Riz, where’s the nearest elemental station? They have tires, right?” Adaine leans her head on his shoulder to see the scribbled-on paper he’s seemingly-randomly turning this way and that. 

“There’s one off I-6. We could at least get a patch and some air there, but I’m not sure about tires.” Fabian twists around into Riz’s space to see the map. 

“I-6 is five miles away,” he says, voice thin. Riz tilts his head in a slow nod. 

“I could teleport,” Adaine suggests. Fig mumbles in agreement, but Fabian waves his hand.

“Nobody’s wasting any spell slots. I’ll just call the Hangman.” 

Gorgug presses his mouth into a line. “Are you sure? I thought it was getting repairs. We don’t wanna make you do anything that would hurt it.” 

“You’ve fixed it before, haven’t you?” He squints, and in his head he says _Hangman, so sorry to bother you, but we’ve had trouble on the highway. Please come post-haste._

_Master, whomsoever has caused problems for you will know the fury of the Nine Hells. I am on my way._

“Nothing like that, Hangman,” Fabian grumbles, and then looks back up at a saucer-eyed Gorgug. “You’re gonna ride with me, right?” 

Gorgug nods heartily. “Yeah, bud, of course!”

The Hangman arrives within twenty minutes, which is great news for Fabian, who’s dangerously close to clawing his ears off. He loves his friends dearly, but they’re... quite loud. In the tiny space the Hangvan provides, the noise bandages itself around his head and prickles in his stomach. The moment his bike arrives, he latches onto Gorgug’s arm and tugs him onto the shoulder where the Hangman is pulling up.

_Sire, I apologize for the delay. I had to smash through the tinkerers’ window in order to unite with you once again._

Fabian schools his face to a vague annoyance and says, “We’ll pay for that.” Gorgug narrows his eyes minutely. 

“Pay for what?” He asks. Fabian swallows. 

“Nothing. Uh, the tire. Hop on, Gorgug.”

As Fabian mounts his steed, he runs his hand across the frightening metal of the skull plate. A large crack spans its way across the front of it, though it’s now been filled with some sort of repairing tar. It sticks to his hand as he moves it. 

Gorgug does what Fabian can only imagine is his way of sliding on subtly. The bike rocks a bit under the new pressure, but it’s of no concern. The Hangman’s carried three jocks before. Two is nothing! Well, it’s not nothing. Both of them are very big and muscular. 

Gorgug’s big hands move to encircle Fabian’s waist, and he pitches forward and onto the grass on the side of the highway.

The Hangman is making alarmed noises in his head as he sits up, absolutely getting dirt on his ass. Gorgug tumbles off the bike and kneels next to him. 

“Hey, dude, what happened? You okay?” He reaches a hand towards his shoulder, but seems to think better of it as he places it instead on the ground in front of him. 

“I—I’m not sure.” Fabian hikes one knee up to his chest and grips the tough bone there. “I feel, uh, weird. I’m fine, though, we’ve got to get going.” He goes to stand up. Gorgug holds his hand in front of his chest. 

“Hey, take it easy. Are you kinda irritable? Like, everything makes you wanna scream?” 

Fabian nods slowly. His face feels hot. 

“I think you’re having sensory overload. It happens sometimes.” He smiles sheepishly. “It’s part of why I wear my headphones all the time. It’s loud noise I can control. Lots better than loud noises you can’t, right?” As he speaks, he pulls his thick headphones off of his neck. He offers them to Fabian, who takes them with a tremoring hand. He pulls them over his ears and adjusts the band so it fits his smaller head. It’s a novel experience, to be small. 

Gorgug hits something on his phone and the playlist starts. Fabian almost recognizes the song from hearing it muffled in several battles, but it’s different when he’s actually listening to it. It’s kind of grimy, but so’s Fabian, so he doesn’t mind.

He feels himself leaning back as something in him settles, and when he does, Gorgug’s back to back with him to give him a place to rest.

“Thanks,” he says. He feels the vibrations in his skull as Gorgug laughs. “What?” He pulls one speaker off his ear. 

“You said that so loud, bro,” he says. Fabian elbows him. It only makes him laugh harder. 

“Whatever. Can we get going now?” 

“Alright,” Gorgug says, and before Fabian can react, he’s being lifted up by his armpits and placed onto his bike. Gorgug climbs on and, as tenderly as his big hands can muster, wraps himself around his friend’s waist. 

“Hit it, Hangman,” Fabian says, and power chords chase them down the highway.


	5. riz gukgak

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the fabriz is left vague here. but do understand. i am a gay fabian truther and i will be for as long as i live.

Riz rides the Hangman almost as much as Fabian does. It just makes the most sense; Riz is a ranged fighter and incredibly light. Being carried around weightlessly to drop onto enemies at any moment is perfect for him. It doesn’t quite explain how much he hops on outside of battle.

Fabian is tapping his foot on the concrete outside of Strongtower Luxury Apartments. The Hangman purrs where he leans against it. He’s starting to get huffy when a sliding balcony door screeches open and a half-dressed Riz leans down.

“Sorry to keep you waiting! I’ll be down in a minute. Forgot what time it was. Gotta get dressed.” 

“I can see that,” Fabian says. Riz is sockless on the dirty metal floor of the balcony and his shirt is unbuttoned, leaving flashes of green skin and black fabric exposed. His face is fully clothed in a toothy nose-scrunching grin, though. Fabian bites back his own smile. They stand there, looking at each other, for a moment.

“Go put socks on, The Ball!” He calls up. Riz shoots him two thumbs up and slides back inside. 

_I mean this with full respect, Master Fabian, but I really don’t know why you like him so much._ The Hangman is rolling lightly back and forth on the pavement. Fabian is still looking up at the balcony, seeing Sklonda rubbing the bridge of her nose as she highlights a textbook. Riz looks a lot like her. 

He thinks about The Ball. He thinks about The Ball holding onto his collar as he lifts him away from the corn cuties. He thinks about The Ball gnawing through metallic dragon scales with a look of vindication in his eyes. He thinks about The Ball, hunched and focused, in a chair next to his bed after the worst night of his life. He thinks about The Ball wrapped in his battle sheet, cold and bleeding but alive. 

_Are you getting sentimental, Sire?_

“No. Of course not. I like The Ball because he’s... funny. And, uh, a good friend. He’s nice.” 

_If you say so, Sire._

The front doors swing open, then, and Riz is stumbling through them with one hand stuffing his keys into his breast pocket. 

“Fabian!” He shouts, as if they hadn’t just seen each other yesterday. Fabian doesn’t say that, of course. He’s very busy grinning. 

“You’re really starting to test my patience, The Ball,” he says, and there isn’t an ounce of malice in his tone. Riz shrugs. 

“I know you’ll wait.” 

Fabian looks at the ground. “Yeah, well, uh, hop on.” 

He climbs on board. Riz wriggles up behind him. He’s really little. His hands scrabble around Fabian’s middle until they lock together and he presses the side of his face into his spine. It’s weirdly grounding, how Fabian has to really put effort into breathing.

He taps his foot against the transmission. The Hangman peels off to Mordred Manor. 

Everybody’s already there, of course, when the two of them arrive. Riz shakes out his knuckles and smiles lopsidedly before running through the wide open doors. Fabian strolls in after him.

Ayda is sitting at the mouth of the stairs when he walks in. “They’re here,” she calls into the kitchen. She waves at him. He waves back.

“Were you waiting for us?” He asks. She shakes her head. Some sparks fly off of her hair and hit the carpeted steps.

“I’m waiting for Fig to come down. She’s bringing the movie box. I also wanted to have a few minutes to myself.” Fabian flexes his fingers.

“Oh, sorry to interrupt.”

“No need for apologies. It’s always a pleasure to see any of my many friends.” She smiles. Her smile is big, teeth crooked and cheeks full. He smiles back.

“Is The Ball in the kitchen?” 

“Riz is in the kitchen. The Ball is in the kitchen, excuse me. I know that is your preferred name for him.”

“Thanks,” he says. He thumps down the hallway just in time to hear Fig clomping down the stairs.

Riz is sitting on the tile countertop and talking to Kristen and Jawbone, who are preparing the popcorn. When they’d first started having movie nights, everyone had worried that Kristen would be uncomfortable eating any corn products, but she reassured them that grinding a representation of her old god between her teeth is actually quite therapeutic. The three of them greet him warmly as everyone else calls them into the family room to choose what to watch.

They end up picking an adventure story, to contrast the romcom they watched last week, but there’s still enough kisses for Fig to enjoy. Adaine and Ragh are both crying at the end, and Riz squeezes Fabian’s hand without looking at him. 

They hang around for another two hours, talking and eating and laughing. Mid-story, Fabian is hushed by Jawbone who points to where Riz is breathing heavily against his arm. 

“Looks like somebody’s ready to head home,” he whispers. Everyone giggles. 

It’s rare to see Riz actually sleeping. He can go weeks at a time before crashing, and even then he doesn’t like other people to see him in that state. His face is smooth and pillow-wrinkled, his mouth hanging open with his tongue pushing out his bottom lip. Fabian stiffens instinctively. He really, really doesn’t want to wake him up. 

“I can take him home,” Gorgug says, “I’ll put him in the back of the van.” 

“No,” Fabian says, and he doesn’t realize he’s said it out loud until Adaine is giving him a look. 

“I mean, it’s fine. He already asked me to be his ride home, so.” He gnaws on his cheek. Everyone’s looking at him. He doesn’t like it, this time. 

“So I’m just gonna leave.” 

“Oh, now?” Fig asks. She’s only half-awake herself, burrowed under Ayda’s arm. 

“Yeah, I mean, he might wake up.” 

“Fair enough,” she says. “Give him a kiss for me.” She yawns with a pop of her jaw. 

“I’m not going to—oh, whatever.” Kristen snickers at him and he ignores her in favor of hoisting Riz into his arms. “Night, guys.” 

There’s a chorus of well wishes as he bumps open the door with his hip and adjusts his friend. He moves his speckled green arms so that they clasp around his neck, inadvertently burying his face into his sternum. He doesn’t think about it. 

_Master, is The Ball asleep? I never thought I’d see the day._

“That he is, Hangman, so keep your engine revving to a minimum tonight. I won’t have him waking up prematurely.” 

Mounting the Hangman is a little tricky with only one arm. It’s also a little tricky with a sleeping goblin draped around your neck like a thick scarf. Once he’s seated, he takes in his position: two thin legs wrapped around his waist, holding a hand on the small of his friend’s back, drool sticking to his shirt. He’s grossed out by how that doesn’t gross him out.

“To Strongtower, Hangman,” he says, and that’s where they go. 

Riz sleeps all the way back. The two of them must be quiet a sight, Fabian thinks, snuggling down the road at 40 miles an hour. He doesn’t think about what an onlooker might think. He really, really doesn’t think about it. 

They arrive at the entrance to the apartments. Fabian debates whether or not he should wake his friend up, but the barely audible snores win him in the end. He adjusts his grip and pushes through the door, buzzing Sklonda’s number.

“Gukgak residence,” he hears over the tinny intercom. She doesn’t sound sleepy. 

“Sklonda, it’s Fabian. I’m just bringing The Ball home. He slept the whole drive!” 

“No shit! Come on up. You must’ve drugged him.” 

“With my friends? I wouldn’t be shocked.” 

He takes the elevator. He never takes elevators (always looking for a leg workout), but he doubts Riz would enjoy all that jostling. He knocks on Sklonda’s door.

“Hey, kiddo,” she says. She holds the door for him and he smiles at her sheepishly. 

“I didn’t want to wake him,” he says, and she nods. 

“I would’ve done the same. You’re a good friend, Fabian.” 

He shrugs. She fixes him with a stare.

“I mean that, Mr. Seacaster.” She elbows him a little. Riz hums at the movement, and they both still to look at him. Neither of them breathe until he settles again. 

“Go get him into bed, would you?” She whispers. Fabian nods dutifully and pads down the hallway. 

Riz’s room is small and plastered with photos. A few of them are highlighted or red-stringed, but most of them are just him and his friends having a good time. Fabian has to watch his step, though, because the floor is a little filthy.

He doesn’t mind.

He lays Riz down on his twin bed and does his best to pull off his friend’s little dress shoes. He realizes with a little horror that Riz’s feet are bigger than his. He tosses them to the corner, wincing at the way they thud against the wall. Riz stirs again. 

“Hmm?” He grumbles. Fabian scowls to himself and tucks a blanket around Riz. 

“Go back to sleep, The Ball. I didn’t carry you all the way here for nothing.” 

“You carried me?” 

Fabian’s hands freeze where they’re pushing the blanket under his shoulders. 

“Um.”

“That’s so nice. You’re so nice, Fabian. You’re my best friend.” 

He drifts off again. Fabian looks at him for a moment, blanket up to his chin, tongue poking through sharp teeth. He pats his arm. 

“You’re mine too, The Ball.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> that’s all folks! please leave a comment if you have anything to say, they make me so so happy (: i love you!

**Author's Note:**

> i’m on twitter @/touchtonereggie! come say hi.


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